synflux | [ closed ] why hold onto all that?

( everything happened so quickly, as many things do.

one moment he had his foot firmly planted on the lower deck of a yacht, fending off a monstrous beast attempting to jump onboard, and the next he was windswept, the rushing seas merging with the clouds all around him in his vision as if the world itself had shattered. the storm's intensity was alien, a something he'd never experienced before, his hands violently weaving through the water seeking anything that could pull him up and out—a rope, a hand—but... nothing.

if only he were still a servant, a ghost that didn't need to breathe to function. a creature that didn't need warmth to survive past death.

dammit. not here. not after being granted another life. no... no, he should be stronger than this, and so he battles the current once again, fatigued in his wet suit and damp skin, the blood-tinged waves surrounding him unrelenting, but... to no avail. the kaijuu's rage is unrelenting, the seas like an impenetrable fog. all that breaks through it and reaches his vision is the sporadic, dispersed searchlight from a yacht overhead, perpetually scanning for anyone struggling in the hungry waters.

for now, all his struggle results in is more water, and a fleeting calm folds behind scrunched, tired eyes. )

Edited 2024-02-03 17:00 (UTC)

( placeholder... it's coming. i swear. )

( this is it, then. what they have been summoned for, the entire reason for all those annoying fight simulations. except this isn't it - this is real, and causing real damage, and the people he has rescued are people who would die and never come back. not made of data, but flesh, and blood, and painfully human.

so many people come to mind as wanderer soars through the skies. ishmael, foolish girl, who thinks her insanity and ambition will take her to victory, that bloodlust is reason to be so careless. he had been like that once, too. he knows how idiotic that mindset is, and keeps his eyes trained for red hair.

he thinks, too, of that raggedy man, so alike and yet so different from him. wanderer knows a man with blood in his hands when he sees one, seasoned from fighting, known to death. he had been like that once, too, and he can only wonder if he's in one of the yachts, fighting, or eager to do so. he looks, absentmindedly, with few hopes that his eyes would find an insect so small -

but he does. foolishly human, too, throwing himself at a monster so much bigger, so much stronger. one of his hits misses, the other hits - and when he lands back on the yacht, the orca's waves throw the entire thing off balance, together with all the ones who were in it. whatever feeling has been bubbling up in his chest is utterly useless; what name does he put on it, and why does it bother him so? it's meaningless altogether, something with no room or place in his empty chest. and yet.

and yet, he still dives into the ocean, uselessly. still goes off route to look for that foolish man, utterly human, scarily fragile. his mechanical eyes see well under the water, and wanderer finds him soon enough. drowning. dying. always so easily, always in the blink of an eye. he fishes him out of the water, brings him to the shore, fusses over him, and for what reason? humans die, sooner or later, as they are fated to do so. and yet,

he has seen miyazaki do something about this, about the lack of air, about a drowning tatarasuna girl, too. gently, carefully - wanderer is so much stronger, after all, and humans are like porcelain; one, two, three, ten, thirty, over and over he pushes his palms against izou's chest, never sure if this is working, if this is right, without anyone to guide him. then once, and twice - he has no qualms with kissing, has done it before without bothersome feelings in the way. transferring oxygen is a weird experience for a puppet that does not breathe, but if all he's meant to do is push it into someone's mouth, then that much he can do, at least.

it's clumsy, the cpr, but it's the way miyazaki had done it, and he had seen the little girl come back to life, almost. )

... Are you really just going to die like that? To some damn water you swallowed? ( the world's shittiest motivational speech, if izou can even hear him, but the weight of complicated feelings in his chest are too heavy for wanderer to allow himself the awareness that he's simply - worried,

and perhaps, foolishly, a little scared. )

( painfully human.

it's been so long since he's been that, been breathing and life and guts and body. a servant is all that but nothing tangible, just a corporeal being with the ghost of a blood-beat snaking beneath their skin, just a remnant of the deeds that carved their name into the war torn map of history. it's only recently that he's felt the weight of having hands capable of forging new memories, of having a voice so real that those who aren't his master listen and remember, and you'd think he'd tread cautiously when it came to this chance at a new life.

but, as much as he protests being anything other than a blood-soaked demon, he is, just that:

painfully human.

as his leftover strength as a servant wanes, his lungs panging for air after being thrown into that maelstrom that is the sea, izou dreams. he sees a place on earth that belongs to him and his friends when they were as children, the lot of them cheering along the bank of a river, beyond the civilized landscape of row houses and down a hill as they egg each other on and play a game of keep-away in the water. he sees his small, calloused fingers as they dig through pebbles to compete with the other boys in a competition for rock-skipping, feels the defensive anger as he stands in the way of a group of them chastising his crybaby neighbor, a boy from a better household, for refusing to get his clothes wet and disappoint his older sister. simpler times.

before he can relax fully into that dream and those days of poverty followed by joyous times, though, unaware that he's drifting further and further away, there's a something pulling his weight against the caress of the current. the shifting of his limbs. palms thrusting into his chest, if that is his chest, once... twice. many times, followed by the brush of lips on his, though in the haze of almost drowning, it's difficult to focus on the activities taking place.

a coughing episode later, with water running from his lips and down his body: )

Don't... wanna die—

( how annoying, this feeling is. if wanderer searches the shelves of his long-lived memory, maybe he would be able to find a particular point in time where he felt... this, whatever this is. a suffocating feeling that eats him inside out, heavy and painful. for a being without a heart, it much feels like it's being squeezed by an invisible hand, a force that will make it burst and bleed. human emotions are overly complicated, and he has felt a great deal of them - anger, at the end of the day, had been his favorite, the one he had gotten to know the best, intimately. anger is a motivator, an enabler, the stepping stone for ambition. he keeps anger close to his chest, but not this.

something similar, perhaps, to fear. a sharp pain, a needle slowly piercing through flesh and muscle and nothing at all, because his body isn't so real, not nearly as human. wanderer has seen death so many times, has delivered it to those who deserved it and those who did not, and yet -

in his arms, fragile and weak, it's too close for comfort, too personal. he had been powerless once, unable to change the inevitable fate of those made of flesh and bones, painfully human.

at least one person. just one person. if he could at least save one person - )

You won't. I won't let you. ( he's talking, at least, breathing again. wanderer helps sit him up, head down, so the water comes out. ) Cough it out, then breathe. ( like he really knows what those mean tbh ) How are you feeling?

( the requests made of him are almost unreasonably difficult for something so simple: to cough it all out. to breathe. he tries to gasp through all the water he's been spitting, but his lungs won't obey him and do their job at first, and the ability to actually choke on air that he's gone without for so long is an experience he'll soon wish had never been granted to him again. he makes another attempt to suck in air before starting to spit again, his wet, grimy hands grasping at the folds of wanderer's clothing to steady himself.

even in this close proximity, the words said to him sound distant, but he's trying desperately to focus, to cling to life, because it's true—he doesn't want to die, not again, and especially not like this, with frigid fingertips pressing firmly on his windpipe. he tries to tilt his neck upwards to see his savior better, but even that feels like a monumental task.

fine. he can at least tilt it to the side... and as his blurred vision begins to adjust, the first thing that comes to mind while he's stiff with the cold and distressed is that... their small form reminds him of someone whose dear hand frequently stretched out to him as a child, the very notion of it drying his throat up even more than the continual coughing did. but that's...

—just not possible, and what's more, izou can identify who it is by their voice. )

C-Cold. What, even...

( izou croaks, the back of his throat burning. he's just gonna... attempt to stand himself despite everything, and despite it being a stupid idea after nearly drowning. )

( sometime after they recede from combat and draw down...

the need to wash off their grime is all but necessary, the fight with the kaijuu exhausting in more ways than one, or in izou's case, the fight against his aversion for the technology provided and having ripped it off, the pinprick of so many knives all over his body a sensation that has brought him a point beyond exhaustion. not to mention the odd side effects of the modifications, which most people appear to be experiencing.

izou follows a crowd of men down the corridor and into brimstone's public bath, the regret of his actions during the battle weighing as heavily on him as the choking sensation in his chest...

at least, his disoriented, weary self imagined he did.

what the. is that... ?

while glowering stubbornly at a tall figure next to him beneath the hot water, two naked hands pressed against the wall for support: )

The hell're you doin' here? This is Brimstone.

Edited 2024-02-05 07:35 (UTC)

[ People tend to deal with exhaustion in a myriad of ways. Ren finds himself drifting, not at all focused on anything else beyond taking one step after another. He manages to make it to the communal bath somehow. The hot water helps soothe the ache in his muscles, washing away the dirt and grime with ease. A map of scars, both old and new, is visible despite the light steam, but he barely takes note of it.

It's only when an irate voice pushes through the water's hiss that he looks up. Red eyes direct their focus on Izou, someone he recognizes immediately. ]

... This is Revelation.

[ Not that there's anything to indicate as such, but if Izou were to walk out, he'd see that the Revelation wing is close by. ]

Are you lost?

Lost?

( izou repeats, confusion amplified by the pain and exhaustion that's yet to subdue until they've had a few nights rest at least.

a few seconds later, after a decent attempt to concentrate, he finally begins to recognize the figure speaking to him through the unexpected echo of sloshing water as it slides through his thick hair in splashes. his muscles twitch with the heat and with indecision, as he isn't sure whether to keep leaning into the water or to straight up book it. )

You're... ( don't even say it. remember what happened last time. ) ... Ren, huh.

( guess this is the wrong bathing quarters. an occasional stream of red trickles beneath their feet, as well as the feet of the others who are nursing their wounds right now, into the drain, and then, a minute later, as he reaches up, he runs fingers through his hair, throwing blade the occasional sidelong glance as he recalls how they teamed up the day before: )

The way you fought out there—why're you like that?

[ The pause is noted. At least Izou is aware enough to not repeat what nearly set Ren off last time. It makes him more amenable to the other man's presence, even if he isn't in the right shower wing. Not that it matters— he supposes it's all the same. They're all here to lick their wounds and let the hot water wash it all away.

His eyes trail back to the rivers of red flowing into the drain, as if considering his words. ]

Why am I like what?

[ Izou is going to have to be more specific than that, if he wants better answers from Ren. ]

It's how I've always done it.

[ Not quite reckless, really, but the way he fights often betrays how little he cares about his own life. ]

( and that's exactly it. aside from what he's been told and their one-time exchanges, izou doesn't know or care much for blade personally, but that unrestrained sword technique and the intensity it carries... the language encoded in every thrust and strike of a weapon... that's something he can look at and understand without blinking. when blade acknowledges what he's taken issue with, izou's eyes squint with distance and irritation.

always, huh. )

Can't say I like it.

( he's just throwing his opinion out there unwanted, easing very comfortably into the fact that he's in the wrong wing entirely. it's not as if anyone's gonna throw him out. probably.

then there's a slight tremble in shoulders, a wince, and a hand placed gingerly just under his ribs to partially shield gills from a spray of steaming water. he would turn his body to hide them if he could, this strange modification that feels like an open wound, but he can't. not here, in the showers, where they're so open and obvious.

one eye moves up through dark hair again to meet blade's gaze, if he's into that: )

Guy as strong as you is just wastin' his potential, hurtin' himself like that.

[ Oh? What an interesting thing to say.

It seems Izou's words have captured Ren's attention. Being told that they don't like how he does things isn't something that happens all that often. Perhaps the other Stellaron Hunters might have made an offhand comment or two in the past, but nothing so direct as this. It's almost as if Izou cares— even though Ren knows that isn't exactly the case.

Their eyes meet, but Ren is the first one to look away. ]

Whatever potential I have isn't mine in the first place. It should go to waste.

[ This is always hard to explain, because it involves exposing parts of him that are better off buried six feet under. But he doesn't know how Izou will react to the half-truths he can offer. ]

But I don't see why that should bother you.

( the answer doesn't seem to satisfy him, but when has izou ever looked satisfied since arriving in this dying cityscape marred with technology? it's nothing new, being thrown into timeline after timeline that sparkles but is ultimately falling apart at the seams, but it still just so happens to be the country he was born in, and a far cry from the old-fashioned streets and alleys he once strolled through at that.

izou's weary gaze follows blade as he glances way, and it feels like the only leg up he has on him right now, especially when he's about to admit something difficult. )

Whaddya mean, "not yours"? When you were one-a the toughest out there, just...

( he trails off, the words cut short by a sharp intake of breath. it's only natural that the pain gained from wrestling with those beasts wouldn't abate in a single day, but that doesn't stop it from being any less frustrating.

or maybe his acknowledgement of blade's strength and expertise is what's elevating his own distress, when here he'd thought it'd be nothing in comparison to izou's own... when here he didn't expect the man himself to downplay. )

If anything, you should be holdin' your head high. I don't wanna ask for a duel from a guy with no pride.

[ If anyone else had received such words of encouragement, they might have been swayed by the sentiment behind them, but since this is Ren, only silence follows after Izou's voice. Silence, and the continuous free-fall of water coming from the shower. It stretches on for as long as it takes Ren to think about what he should say.

What could he say, that would feel satisfying? He doesn't think anything he'll come up with is going to be the answer that Izou is looking for. ]

You're welcome to find someone else to fight. This monstrous strength isn't meant to be celebrated.

[ The flesh of an Emanator of Abundance thrives within his own, twisting what he used to be into something unrecognizable. If anything, he'd rather carve himself out and rip what he could into pieces if he was allowed to. But something like that will always be fleeting— a temporary relief that will always feel out of reach.

Softly, he sighs. ]

Was that all you wanted to say?

( the silence is almost unbearable at first. and awkward. just two dudes in the nude, not saying a word.

there's a clear look of disbelief on izou's face at the reply, a shock at how his words have been seemingly dismissed, where he had figured that accosting blade with this observation might clear up some of his own personal discontent. it's not as if izou were a noble warrior or anything. if anything, he was a wild moth enticed by the flame of other people's prowess, eager to demonstrate at any moment's notice that he was everything he said he was... to keep anyone from criticizing him. denying him.

izou scrunches his locks with both hands, water seeping from it to the floor in loud splashes. )

Nah. I got plenty more where that came from.

( here's where izou approaches blade... in the shower... sorry not sorryyy, bare feet stomping on the hard-packed tile. he stops just short of them being chest-to-chest, as if this makes him appear more intimidating. )

Who d'ya think you are to go blowin' me off while flauntin' your strength in the same sentence?

[ The distance between them is crossed once Izou approaches. Ren remains silent the entire time, the water a constant white noise in the background. The other man seems affronted for reasons he can't fathom, but maybe the next few things Izou will say is going to illuminate it for him. Or so he thought, but that's not what happens.

In the end, he's still left confused. ]

What makes you think I'm flaunting?

[ He called his own strength monstrous. Declared that it shouldn't be celebrated, no matter what. Which part of that is arrogance?

When he continues to speak, he sounds so, so tired. ]

If you really want a fight, I can give it to you.

[ closed ] why hold onto all that?

dan heng.

wanderer.

MY placeholder now

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blade.

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popping blade into yt to see how he fights uhmmm

he's a mess......

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cw: self-harm thoughts

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